


So I Say Shine

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Biting, Dirty Talk, Dry Orgasm, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rimming, Roleplay, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 22:23:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6258109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe needs this, needs Finn's hand in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So I Say Shine

**Author's Note:**

> So I say shine, let their planets collide/This is the darkening down of my mind. — ["Target"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gds5abhYm0), Fugazi

Finn's pretty sure he can do this.

It's not the _doing_ it that's worrying him – though, come on, your whole hand inside your boyfriend: that's not something to take lightly, not so far as Finn is concerned – it's the possibility of disappointing Poe that's getting to him.

Poe wants this. He _really_ wants this. 

He talks about it, sometimes, when they're lazily fucking around, making out and jerking off, and it's like a switch gets flipped. One minute, he's just Poe, husky-voiced and handsome and swollen-lipped from kissing, and then, _I want your hand in me_. **Boom**. He's intense, squinting, panting, jaw set, tendons standing out as he _stares_ at Finn, sucks on Finn's fingers, and just _wants_ it. Broadcasting that want with every pore in his body, brimming with sweat. 

If you can get more naked, long after taking all your clothes off, that's how Poe gets.

And it never fails to make Finn, somehow, twice-three-four-times harder, even if he just came. He'll cross his fingers inside Poe's mouth, feel the suction drag them deeper, Poe's tongue curving around his knuckles, watch Poe's eyes flutter closed, and he'll want nothing more, either, except to give him what he wants.

But while that's...sincere, completely sincere (he would give this man anything), still, it's hypothetical.

 _This_ is not hypothetical. This is Poe lying back on the bed, naked and sweaty and already well-fucked, curls stuck to his forehead and neck, his ass up on a pillow, legs fallen open. Waiting.

Finn's kneeling between Poe's legs, watching Poe get ready to lube himself up again.

Just: Poe's hand, shining with slick, reaching for his crack. The hair there is plastered down in irregular, broken swirls.

"Wait," Finn says. This isn't fair, Poe shouldn't have to do everything. 

"You can do this," Poe tells him. "You can do this."

"I can do this," Finn replies and draws another shuddering breath. He pinches the taut skin on Poe's bent knee. "You don't have to encourage me, that's not how this should work."

Poe lifts his head and smiles. "But I know you can." 

"Right, right," Finn says. He runs his hands up and down Poe's thighs, squeezing the muscles, digging his fingers in like he's a masseur-droid. "I can."

"Hey –" Poe sits up, arm going around Finn's neck, and kisses him. He gets lube all over Finn's neck, but that hardly matters, given how sweaty and stinky they both already are. "This is going to be amazing."

"You're amazing," Finn says as Poe rolls his forehead against Finn's. They breathe together for a bit, hands on each other's shoulders, before Poe kisses him again. Slower this time, shallower, his hands coming up to frame Finn's face.

"Better?" Poe whispers.

"Yeah," Finn says. "I got this."

"I know." Poe lies back down, closes his eyes for a second, lashes blurring out his lids. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

Finn tugs Poe a little closer, bringing the pillow under his ass with him, and leans in, breathing out over Poe's balls, the base of his cock (half-hard again, _already_ ), then mouthing his way down. He closes his lips on the hair, tugs a little, makes Poe grunt and moan; Poe's hand comes down on the back of Finn's head, light, but strong. He cants up his hips as Finn presses his face in, and down, kissing the sweaty, sticky skin behind his balls, down the achy-tender perineum, and now Poe's hand is scrabbling a little in Finn's short hair and he's lifting up higher, opening even wider for Finn's mouth.

Everything's so _close_ down here, close and softer than anything, sweaty and secret. Bloodwarm against Finn's mouth, almost trembling with capillaries and nerves and need. Poe's got one leg over Finn's shoulder now, his hips rising and falling as Finn works his mouth against Poe's hole, the ruched-up skin and then the tight, almost swollen taut skin just inside. He kisses away the lube, kisses down to just _Poe_ , fragile skin and crushing strength, licks deeper, then presses the flat of his tongue right up against the hole and holds.

"Finn –" Poe shouts, then goes quiet, but his breathing is almost as loud as Finn's own. Thunderous. He's not, quite, sure how this is supposed to go, but judging from Poe's reactions, anything is good, so long as he keeps it up. And he can't exactly imagine stopping, not with the moans Poe's making which rumble all the way down to Finn's lips, across his tongue, then back up, inside him. Maybe they're Finn's moans, rippling through Poe's body, escaping his mouth.

Finn can hardly breathe. The way he's bent over, hands on the inside of Poe's thighs, he's braced _into_ Poe, mouth first, and he realizes, belatedly, that he's rutting against his own legs like a kid. Poe is open for him, giving him all of this, this dark-red heady place that's like nothing but secrets, and trust, and _interiors_. He closes around the tip of Finn's tongue when Finn starts to withdraw it.

He glances up; Poe's hard again, pre-come running down in a long thin cascade. Finn tastes it, licks it up, rubs it against his face, as he moves his hand against Poe's crack, working one fingertip slowly inside.

The words Poe is saying aren't language, really, but they mean _something_ , they come in rhythms and beats and long, drawn-out sighs like Alderaanian poetry, and Finn rests his cheek against Poe's thigh for a second, just feeling and listening.

The jar of lube is up by Poe's waist; Finn worms his free hand up there, only to knock it out of reach like a damn genius, so then he has to say, "Um. Sorry. I need the –"

Poe's face is red. Just _red_ as he looks blearily down and tries to push the jar toward Finn.

"Hey," he says. His voice is nearly gone. "You."

"Hey," Finn says, nabbing the jar at last. "Doing all right?"

Poe smiles, slower than melting sweet sap, and he's obviously trying to think of something smartass to say before he shudders and flops back. His chin, dark with stubble, juts up to the ceiling, past his heaving chest. He's flushed almost as dark as his cock. "Yeah. Good."

Finn's going to have to count this as a win already if he's managed to make Poe "Just One More Thing" Dameron close to speechless.

He's curled around Poe now, basically, adding more lube to his fucking hand, working another finger inside. He moves his lips over the head of Poe's dick, gently enough to make Poe curse long and low, more breath than words but unmistakably a curse all the same, and adds a third finger. Inside Poe, it's hot and slick, crushing-tight but _welcoming_ , and Finn has to fight to keep his fingers from folding over each other.

He gets ambitious, pictures sucking Poe off while fucking him with his hand, but Finn's not flexible enough, not yet.

Still, if he pushes himself up on his free hand and turns his hand inside 45°, then – yes, he can get his mouth maybe halfway down Poe's shaft, feel him throb against his tongue _and_ around his knuckles. Up go his lips, in goes his hand; down, out, up, in. It's a good rhythm, and Poe's moaning louder, broken sounds like pottery hitting the floor. All too soon, he's grabbing the base of his cock and squeezing, coming, across Finn's tongue and down his chin.

Finn rolls his lips together, tasting sour salt and lube and that dark, sweaty secret he can't name.

"Holy –" Poe has gone still, blessedly, for a moment, even as his hole nearly flexes around Finn's fingers, all but drawing in his pinky. "Yes."

Finn adds more lube. That's what the holonet advises: there can never be enough lube, and it's true, and Poe's going up on his elbows now, looking down, watching Finn.

It's not like being judged. It's like...being appreciated. It's the way Finn himself watches Poe fly, or Rey swing the lightsaber. He feels the heat of Poe's attention across his back, down his arm, and when he glances up, there's Poe, red mouth and dark eyes.

"You feel really good," Finn says, which is perhaps not the sexiest thing, but it's _true_. Poe's so hot inside, and _soft_ , and there's just a little more room with every breath he takes. The tip of Finn's thumb is inside now, and all four fingers past the second knuckle. "Just – so good."

Poe's smile tilts and spreads. He breathes out, head falling back, and something shifts inside, or the angle improves, and Finn's thumb is in now, folded up against his palm, but _inside_.

He gets dizzy, just like that, like the bed dropped away, the _planet_ dropped away, he's just here held up only by the strength of Poe, by their connection, by his hole.

Things – thoughts, sensations – veer around him, jostling him, until Finn takes another breath, a slow deep one, and then settles back. Poe's peering down at him again, lower lip caught in sharp white teeth. His eyes are hooded and shadowed and when Finn opens his mouth to say something, all he can do is moan. Poe's hole is throbbing around him, he's moving his fingers deeper, and the bruising-squeezing ring is stretching around his knuckles beautifully.

It is beautiful, it's so beautiful, slick red skin around Finn's darker skin, like they're meeting, melting, and there's sweat as well as tears stinging his eyes as Finn strokes his fingertips inside and wiggles his hand a little, barely back and forth, and Poe moans again. It's a sound that Finn's never going to forget, deep and fragmented and _honest_.

And then he stops, he just goes silent but spreads his legs more, bracing one foot on the wall, bearing down on Finn, and –.

"All the way," Finn says, probably unnecessarily, and Poe breathes out a cry. Cries out a breath. One of those. Maybe both, layered over each other.

"Talk to me?" Poe says a little later. They're breathing together, his pulse is surrounding Finn's entire hand, holding him right here. "Please."

"You're so tight," Finn tells him, then has to stop and cough. His throat hurts, his mouth is dry. There's lube drying on his face and neck. "So tight, but you did it. You've got it."

"You're inside," Poe says, his voice a little high. Wondering. Awed? "Inside me."

"I'm inside," Finn says. "You've got me all the way in."

This feels – backward, maybe. Usually Poe's the one talking to Finn, being the rock, reassuring and encouraging. Always more than necessary, always doggedly refusing to stop.

"You feel _so_ good," Finn continues. "I'm so hard. I just –"

Poe wheezes a little. His hand opens, then closes, clutching the sheet. "Your hands."

"Yeah," Finn says. He spreads his fingers fractionally, barely, and it's enough to make Poe grunt and writhe. "You're taking it all. The whole thing."

"I want to fuck myself on you," Poe says, sitting up again, braced just on one hand, the other reaching for Finn. "Just –. Fuck me. Please."

"I –" Finn's hand spasms inside Poe and they both moan. "Yeah." He catches the edge of Poe's hand with his mouth and bites down. 

"Don't be nice to me," Poe whispers. He's hoarse, peering at Finn like they're telepaths, like Finn needs to _understand_ , right now. "Don't –" 

Finn swallows hard and lets Poe's hand drop. 

"Yeah, okay." He makes his hand go still inside as he closes his eyes. Poe's heartbeat surrounds him. He knows just what to say; he shouldn't, but he does. The word's right there, waiting for him. He opens his eyes, looks right at Poe, and says, "Traitor."

Poe's eyes widen, then his mouth opens. Two dark shining lights, then another, darker, slicker hole. He pulses around Finn's fist. He's so beautiful and Finn can't look away. Helpless, so gone.

"Scum," Finn goes on. His chest feels like it's about to collapse. He hates himself, he hates how easy this is, just like clapping the helmet back on. Hates how good this feels, how Poe's cock is twitching, how his own is answering. "Resistance scum."

"No –"

Finn twists his hand, not much, but enough to break the rhythm of Poe's breathing. "You like this? Fucking yourself on me?"

"No –"

"Think you do," he says. Bites off his words just like Phasma does, like they're sour, poisonous, serving only to command. To be heard, never to listen. "Sure looks like you do."

Poe twists, abdomen hollowing beneath the sharp arches of his rib cage. He's panting through the moans.

"You're doing so well," Finn tells him and tries to keep his voice low, mean. Anonymous, faceless. "Resistance slut, you'd fuck yourself on anything that let you, won't you?"

He has to close his eyes at that. There's something true sitting in the back of his throat; it tastes like Poe, it's throbbing like Poe, and it's scaring the hell out of him.

"Anyone, won't you?" he repeats. 

"I –" Poe lifts his head, then lets it bounce back down. When he speaks again, his voice is higher. "Yes."

"Not any more."

"No?"

"Going to keep you," Finn tells him. "Just like this. Just for me."

Poe shivers, from the inside out, and writhes again. His leg is shaking against Finn's shoulder. The heat twists and crushes around Finn's hand.

"Legs open, hole wet," Finn adds. 

"Yes. Please."

"Wide open, all mine."

Poe's voice breaks and crashes into a whisper. There is thunder inside him, storms of heat. "Yours."

"Take some more," Finn says. He hates this. He's loving this. He reaches fractionally farther inside, curling fingertips, corkscrewing deeper. "Fuck yourself on me."

"Uhh," Poe tries to say, tries to lift his head, then gives up. "Yeah."

"Traitors always break. So weak. So pretty," Finn says and now his eyes really are burning. He crushes the heel of his free hand against his cock, pulls on it a couple times, then flexes inside Poe. "Do it. You know what you want."

Poe bears down, then, somehow, lifts himself up a little, and moves back down. Finn's never seen anything like it, not on the holonet, not in his own imagination, but it's happening. Poe's working himself up and down, barely moving, but _moving_ all the same, on Finn's hand. He's half-squatting, hand going back into Finn's mouth, fucking himself on, and into, Finn. He's shuddering, everywhere, grunting and moaning on alternate breaths. His head's falling back again, his toes are digging into the sheet, his chest is rising and falling, and he's –.

"Just come, traitor," Finn gets out; that's all he has, his voice is breaking. He yanks himself until he comes, painfully, joyously, against Poe's thigh, smearing himself spent. "Get it over with."

Inside Poe, Finn's hand is a little numb, definitely crushed, and _tingling_. More than that. Sparkling, really, with effort and pleasure, and every incremental movement Poe makes is making Finn reach a little further, a little deeper, until Poe goes still again. 

"Please –" Poe sounds like he's crying. Or about to cry. The skin on his legs and belly is taut, goosebumped, and he's shaking. "I have to –"

"So do it," Finn says. "Come for me."

He's coming – his dick is definitely twitching and jerking around, untouched – but nothing comes out. He just keeps _coming_ , his back arching, squeezing Finn's fist tighter and tighter, deeper than ever, until he falls back, kicking out his legs, going limp.

Poe's breath rattles through him, wind in an empty tent; Finn can feel the aftersparks and contractions down into his wrist, into his bone marrow.

He curls closer around Poe, the cross-stroke on a signature, the emphasis on an endearment. He pillows his head on his free arm and stays inside, feeling Poe's breathing quiet, his skin cool a little. 

Maybe Finn should just never say anything again. It shouldn't be half so easy to convert fear and love into cruelty like that; maybe his conditioning is still inside him, still calling the shots.

Eventually, Poe touches Finn's ear, strokes his cheek and down his jaw. Finn can't be sure, but he thinks Poe's hand is trembling.

"Thanks," Poe whispers. 

It's really quiet. Finn always loves this quiet, when they're just _together_ , and you barely need anything except his body next to yours (or, apparently, _around_ yours). Regret is hovering behind him, waiting, looming, and he can't quite push it away. 

"Any time," Finn whispers back. Then remembers who he's talking to. "Well. Within reason."

Poe flicks his finger against Finn's earlobe and laughs a little, rumbly and soft. The sound nudges at Finn's regret, and again, makes it recede just a little, then a little more. Poe has a thousand laughs. This is one of the most private.

"Thank you," Poe says again, lifting his head, looking down at Finn.

Finn meets his eyes. He wonders if he should apologize, say something, but Poe is just smiling gently, touching his with shaky, sticky fingers. 

_I'm not that anymore_ , Finn is about to say, when he gets it. However much Poe needed that, he would never have asked if that _was_ Finn still. He wouldn't be here with Finn in the first place. 

None of this is scary, it's all far from wrong: Finn understands that in half a beat of Poe's heart around his hand. It just is.

Poe isn't always the bleeding man, screaming, bound to a chair and breaking, no more than Finn is forever the faceless, heartless Storm Trooper. Both positions are true, just not the only truth, not any longer.

Poe hisses when Finn starts to work his thumb out.

"Easy," Finn tells him, kissing the tendon in Poe's thigh, nipping lightly, then rolling his face there when Poe curves his palm around the edge of Finn's skull and holds on. "I got you."


End file.
